Rainy Days
by Austeria
Summary: Jiraiya was smiling and the night blessed them with a warm silence. Family. -- Jiraiya tribute, Konan centric


I actually started this story last year. It was originally an entry for this short-story contest but it was unfortunately cancelled.

And because Ada Kensington (read her deliciously crack-filled A Day in the Life now, you!) encouraged me to start writing fics, I thought maybe I could use my old story as a base and build up from there (hence the smoking Jiraiya, forgive me).

I suppose I should just be honest and openly admit that I do not care much about Konan, Nagato, or Yahiko at all. First, I wanted to write a story about some sort of paternal or close student-teacher bond, so I thought of Team Sannin and their relationship with Sandaime Hokage. (For some odd reason Team 7 was completely out of my mind, heh.) But then I thought of orphans and the hardships of the world (again, more a random epiphany than anything) and voila: Konan, Nagato, and Yahiko! And because I like Jiraiya, I thought I should just follow up with this idea.

Personally I found this fic rather blah but I'm always so self-critical about my works. Maybe it is blah lol. Well, there's only one way to find out and that's through your reviews. I wouldn't mind people calling my work shitty as long as they voice their honest opinions, so be frank. 8D

Here goes…

(Disclaimer: Kishimoto owns all.)

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**Rainy Days**

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The girl couldn't help but fidget and flinch at the senior's behaviour. She wasn't exactly knowledgeable but she warned him that chugging poison down the throat wasn't the best way to "be a man and capture Tsunade's heart…" Apparently, her advice was still "bull", as he so eloquently put earlier when she condemned his scouting at the female public bath. A sigh escaped her dry lips as she tightened the ragged scarf around her neck.

"Now, don't strangle yourself," the young man snickered.

She frowned only to be met with his laughter – a stream of rickety tattered coughs ironically reflecting the murkiness of the days.

The friendly chat was however cut short by the busty lady's repeated chanting, "…aiya!" and something akin to the moving of his "lazy big perverted ass" from across the street. Jiraiya straightened his head protector and smirked at the inevitable.

"Well then, I guess see you later."

Tsunade was one to boss around and not spare a glance at crushed limbs if those were of one turning her wheels of fortune. At twenty one, Jiraiya was accustomed to being squished under her ever-turning gambling gears; it had always been that way for the team thanks to her unholy habits. The flow of sweat and blood was endurable with the bounty of a couple thousand Ryos in mind – all for Jiraiya's cutest, most adorable future wife.

That particular long-term mission in the Rain, however, didn't promise much advancement in Jiraiya's prospect of a dream marriage, as they were often left with mere verbal jabs by their ever-rich daimyo. (Team Sannin has been scurrying around for a certain S-rank assassin, all with no avail.) Tsunade and Jiraiya had of course taken the liberty of calling their precious client names. Ridiculing the wicked had become an undeniable act of justice, something so rare and much thirsted for in the days of unrest. It brightened their glorious ghetto days.

With her company off to work, Konan sauntered off to the busy downtown streets. She didn't like the tall buildings, she didn't like the cold stares of the people, yet something kept her feet going. Something kept her running. It had been three weeks since their first meeting but she could tell her venture downtown would be a welcome routine for a long time to come, especially with the way he looked at those two. Jiraiya wasn't like the others; he was exuding with emotions so strange to her small little resemblance of a family: feelings of kindness.

_What is kindness?_

She didn't know the answer but Jiraiya did. She had faith.

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"Your food is on the table," Yahiko's voice came from behind the door.

"Where did you steal it from?" she asked, shaking the raindrops off her hair.

"Jiraiya's leftover," Nagato replied.

It has been weeks since they last had rice. A house standard would have consisted of scraps from the mills, spoiled tidbits straight off the raunchy okama bars, or wasted shinobi rations on lucky days. Charity was as much their ally as Rain politicians; they might as well have dug their graves if they were to count on such unpredictability. Konan hastily gobbled up the bowlful, eyeing her friends.

"You know, Jiraiya's really kind to us."

"I think we should totally get him to teach us some ninjutsu, don't you think?"

"Have you talked to him about it, Yahiko?"

"No, but I have no doubt he'll do it if we all beg him to. Especially you, Nagato. He likes you a lot. I can tell, heh."

"We'll see. Will you say it too, Konan?"

She didn't reply. She was observing their movements and their eyes and their smiles. They used to be different; Nagato used to be her crying partner while Yahiko would run around committing small and some not-so-small crimes in the name of justice. Konan was convinced that Yahiko was suffering from a sort of Robin Hood complex (she loved children's stories) but he adamantly denied it, calling himself "a responsible backbone of the family". If Yahiko was the father, it was only natural that she was the mother and Nagato the son. But then again, it would make more sense for Nagato to be the wife, as he was closer to Yahiko than she was. The notion made her laugh.

"What's so funny about Jiraiya teaching us ninjutsu?"

"Nothing."

The laugh proved to be contagious for an instance found all three of them laughing uncontrollably on the cold tatami mat. It was an amazing moment to take in and Konan could not help but return to her initial subject of pondering.

_Jiraiya did __this._

"So, Konan, you think he could teach us?"

"He can do it."

_If only you could just freeze time and take a slice of this moment to keep in your __palm forever._

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"I smell death. A chuunin from the Hidden Rain?"

"One less lowlife in the world, I say. Now shut it, Oro. You're not even supposed to know about these things."

"Touché. I stand by my word that you are merely inviting doom upon yourself."

"I can't just leave them alone."

"Don't make me repeat my words that day, Jiraiya."

_Why don't we just kill them and be done with it?_

The memory fresh in her mind, Konan gasped. It was a mistake for she was hiding in the bushes meters away from where the two men were standing. It seemed, however, that she was undiscovered.

"I'll teach them ninjutsu."

"The old man will not be happy. Our mission will be over soon and he will want us back pronto."

"You don't know that. I'll stay by their side until we're called back to Konoha."

Orochimaru let out a low, bone-chilling cackle.

"Oh, I will be pleased to watch from the sidelines. A personal advice, be sure Tsunade knows about this; she hates being left in the dark," he said, turning his back from Jiraiya.

"And eavesdropping on your sensei's conversation is quite rude, miss."

Her cover blown, Konan fervently bowed down and gave her most sincere apology. When she regained her height, Orochimaru was gone.

Yet those piercing, merciless, slit-like pupils remained for a long time, reminding her of the inconvenience she had become.

_He will be gone._

The realization came like a hard slap on her face, awakening her to a suffocated cry. She could not stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks, nor could she block the thought out of her mind. She lay prostrate on the ground in the corner of the room, feeling the textures of the small, red pillow Jiraiya has bought from the bargain shop. There were the beautiful embroideries of blue roses and golden butterflies; they had first caught her eyes amidst the sea of sluggish, moving bodies, dragging her feet across the cramped room. The smell of ancient dust, the whiff of mahogany all filled her senses like incense, almost like fumes of cremated bones.

_While others die,  
__I do not die.  
__Not dying, I go to Amida's Pure Land__._*

Then they were walking home with Yahiko and Nagato, the red pillow in her embrace. Jiraiya was smiling and the night blessed them with a warm silence.

_Family__._

It began infesting her conscience, the idea of an abandoned village and longing comrades at home. It was obvious that Jiraiya was one of Konoha's most treasured ninjas, yet the fact never appeared so cruel before. She had often seen Jiraiya talking to Tsunade and Orochimaru without the faintest image of similar people, left behind in Konoha. Jiraiya often told them of his home village and its inhabitants, but the people were characters in a fairytale. Konan and Yahiko and Nagato did not live in such a happy place where the sun shined every day. This was the Hidden Rain, where streets were congested with war-orphans and refugees.

Konan did not tell a soul about her little secret, not Yahiko, not Nagato. But it was there. She could not say anything that night, for Jiraiya was outside talking to Nagato. She did not say anything when they laughed together on the dinner table because she knew it would disappear, the stifling feeling of guilt. She hoped.

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It was raining that day.

"I think I can go back to my village without any regrets."

It was raining everyday but it was raining nevertheless.

"You three have done so well these past three years. Now it's time you lived your own lives."

If the heavens could cry, it would be that day. Konan knew it with her heart yet she lifted her face.

"Konan… I can tell you're a real beauty. Come see me again when you turn eighteen!"

She never moved her lips. They felt coarse and dry.

"You live a very poor, needy country. I'm sure that a lot of sad times still lie ahead for it… That's why you three have to work together to change things."

Jiraiya turned his back so Konan knew he wouldn't be able to see her tears. Even if he was facing her, he wouldn't be able to because of the rain; but the extra sense of security allowed her the luxury of being something that she pledged she would never become: fragile and weak. She had nothing left to do but cry. Her tears made it all the more painful and insufferable but she could not stop if she wanted to. She could not.

"I'd say you three have all grown up. Right, Nagato?"

A few seconds passed with silence amongst them. Konan could hear each trickling raindrop, cutting through the thick, grey clouds, swooshing through the air, and finally hitting the ground with a tiny splash. She saw her own teardrops mixing with the rain water on the ground, mixing and twirling with more drops from the sky. Mixing and twirling. Mixing some more and splish-splashing in the thick, spludgy mud. Everything was a blur and she was blind.

"Thank you… sensei."

Nagato said it and it felt like a lonely chorus.

_Thank you._

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"Let's go, Konan. We have to capture the nine-tails."

Konan silently followed from behind.

"Nagato, remember…"

She did not finish as she turned back to the lake where Jiraiya fell.

_There was Jiraiya__._

"Nothing. Let's go."

It was no longer raining.

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_"What is human life? The first third a good time; the rest remembering about it" – Mark Twain_

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*Part of the sutra chanted in a Japanese Buddhist funeral, the "Shoshinge" by Shinran Shonin.


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